


Tit for Tat

by tptplayer5701



Series: "Mind Games"-verse [7]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Butterfly Sabrina Raincomprix, Established Relationship, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Miraculous Holder Sabrina Raincomprix, Post-Hawk Moth Defeat, Post-Reveal Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 08:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23968420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tptplayer5701/pseuds/tptplayer5701
Summary: Marinette and Adrien decide to hold a Heroes of Paris-themed charity fashion show to raise money for sick kids. When you run a major Paris fashion house and you're a rising star in the world of fashion, that sounds simple enough. Of course, nothing is ever simple for Ladybug and Cat Noir...Good thing they've got a whole team to back them up!
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Chloé Bourgeois & Sabrina Raincomprix
Series: "Mind Games"-verse [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666807
Comments: 21
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

“So run this by me again? You want to host a _what_ kind of fashion show during Fashion Week???”

“A fashion show for children with disabilities,” Marinette explained patiently. “It’s a chance for the children to have fun and show off, we could raise some money for the children’s hospital and the Agreste Family Akuma Victims’ Fund, and Agreste might even get some positive press out of the event.”

“In the first place,” M. Janet, the newly-hired business manager, said, fixing Marinette with a condescending glare, “This is a business, not a charity. This fashion house needs to _make_ money, not _give_ money. I’m all for helping the children with disabilities, but I’m more concerned about helping this disabled _company_. And as far as positive press is concerned, Mlle Dupain-Cheng, we will get all the positive press we need from our participation in the normal Fashion Week festivities. When we demonstrate next year’s new line of fashion, separate from Gabriel Agreste. Which people will buy. Giving us money. An intern would do well to focus her energies on the things that matter. Our entries _will_ be ready for the Gala, will they not?”

Mme Legrand, Agreste’s Lead Designer, nodded. “Of course they will. Marinette is not suggesting that we skip out on the Gala for this charity event.” She nudged Marinette subtly under the desk with her foot.

“Certainly not, Monsieur,” Marinette agreed. “Our designs for the Gala are all ready to go. This would just be a small event to tag onto the regular Fashion Week shows and events. A chance for us to mend some fences after all the bad press we received last summer. After M. Agreste’s arrest, how many hit pieces were in the papers? How many of our foreign contracts reneged? How many of our workers resigned? How many possible hires balked?” You _certainly demanded enough of a premium to take this job_ , she thought bitterly. “Young M. Agreste is our only regular model who didn’t leave! If the Heroes of Paris themselves hadn’t endorsed his charity, you know it would have gone nowhere. This company needs every gram of goodwill this charity show might create in the Paris community.”

M. Janet folded his hands and looked back down at the proposal on his desk. Marinette tensed as she watched his eyes roam over the page. She hadn’t been the biggest fan of this particular hire when Adrien introduced him to the (skeleton) design team, but he had nonetheless come recommended. And he was the only candidate who didn’t walk out the moment he heard the name of the brand whose offices he was being hired to manage. She resisted the urge to glance at Mme Legrand, her mentor and one of the few long-term Agreste employees to stay after the arrest. She had been a close friend of Adrien’s mother and one of M. Agreste’s first hires on starting the fashion house, even watching Adrien during his mother’s photo-shoots when he was a baby. Marinette was grateful that the older woman had agreed to remain at the company and mentor her in the finer points of the fashion industry. At their first meeting, she had told Marinette it was clear to her that Marinette had “the Eye” (whatever that meant), but that she would get eaten alive in the cutthroat business world. Marinette had to admit at times like these that her mentor was absolutely correct; Mme Legrand’s ability to handle M. Janet and his criticisms without backing down was more than Marinette could have done on her own.

“Very well, ladies,” M. Janet finally said, picking up the proposal and shuffling the pages to straighten them, “I can see the merit of your proposal, especially if, as you _claim_ , you can ensure that not only a couple of the Heroes of Paris, but Jagged Stone himself will show up to endorse our event. I will bring this to M. Agreste with my… tentative… recommendation.”

Mme Legrand stood and beckoned for Marinette to do the same. “Thank you, M. Janet,” she told him, shaking his hand, “we look forward to hearing the results.”

After Marinette had likewise shaken his hand, the two left the office. Once they were out of earshot from the manager’s office, Mme Legrand turned to Marinette, raised an eyebrow, and commented, “I suppose the chances of Adrien approving this idea are high, my dear, hmm?”

Marinette held a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle. “They should be: it was as much _his_ idea as mine! _And_ we’ve practically finished organizing it.”

Mme Legrand shook her head and chuckled. “If that man ever realizes you have such a direct line to the boss…” Marinette gave her an innocent look. “Well, his attitude toward you would definitely improve.”

“That’s part of why I don’t want him to know,” Marinette responded, cheeks coloring slightly. “I don’t _want_ special treatment. And if he would treat a lowly part-time intern terribly, I want to be the one to find out so Adrien puts a stop to it.”

Mme Legrand gave Marinette an approving smile. “How did you children get to be so wise beyond your years? If my daughter were in your shoes, she would wear a T-shirt that says ‘I’m Dating the Boss’ every day!”

* * *

“You should have seen Janet’s face when I approved the charity show with barely a glance at your proposal!” Adrien laughed between mouthfuls of soup. “You would have thought I had just announced the company was going to hire a monkey as its spokesman!”

Marinette giggled. “Well, you did hire a monkey as its business manager, so…”

Adrien nearly snorted out his soup. “Yeah, he wasn’t exactly my top choice, either. Or my tenth choice, for that matter. Come to think of it, I would have hired Gorilla over him as business manager, but then I’d have needed a new bodyguard. Believe me, if any better options come along, I’m all for them. But you have to admit that the company’s been running a lot more smoothly with a fulltime manager than it was before,” he reminded her. “Not many manufacturers want to schedule their conference calls around school break hours.”

“I suppose,” Marinette admitted.

“But enough about him,” Adrien said. “Let’s talk about something a little more pleasant. How are the plans going so far?”

“Almost all the outfits are already designed,” Marinette told him. “I did decide to redo the Impératrice Pourpre-themed outfit for Michelle to bring out the purple a little more, give it a bit of a redemption theme. It’s also going to blend in a bit of the Fairy-Princess outfit for her.”

“I still can’t believe Sabrina has such a big fan after just a pair of public appearances, especially when she’s using Hawk Moth’s miraculous.” Adrien shook his head and grinned.

“She did save Michelle’s life once and turn her into a Fairy-Princess superhero, so that probably helps.”

“That’s true. Is that the only one?”

“No, little Jacques is insisting on an Owl-themed outfit.”

“Remind me again why we went along with it when King Monkey agreed to let M. Damocles join the group?” Adrien grimaced.

“The damage was already done, Nadja Chamack had already announced it on air, and we were afraid he would give the entire school detention if we went back on that promise.”

“Ah, right. I’d blocked out that particular memory. Still, at least he agreed to just interact with the public around Françoise Dupont, and didn’t insist on being added to our patrol rotation!”

Marinette smiled. “At least Jacques’ outfit will be cute,” she told him. “A little hoodie with a pair of wings coming out of the back along the sleeves that he can extend himself. He’s going to have a blast with it. And we can sell a simplified version of it with the charity T-shirts.”

“Who’s going to be there so far?”

“You, me, Nino, and Alya will all have to be there as ourselves,” Marinette answered. “Nino’s providing the pre-pre-show music and Alya’s going to be our Master of Ceremonies along with live-streaming the show on the Ladyblog. Queen Bee and Impératrice Pourpre will both be there, and I think we should ask the Owl, also. Oh, and Jagged Stone texted me back this afternoon: he’s going to drop in for the show. He has a concert in Lyon the next day, so it’s on the way.”

“Have I told you how amazing you are for putting so much work into this fundraiser?” Adrien asked her, giving her an adoring look. “Especially before the boss had even approved it!”

Marinette blushed. “It was your idea.”

“To do something nice for those kids we visited at Halloween. _You_ were the one who arranged a massive charity fashion show, designed outfits for the kids to highlight their favorite heroes, _and_ found a way for it to make our company look good in the process. That’s a lot more than I could do, especially with everything else on my plate. Between school, fencing, modeling, I just can’t be such a hands-on CEO.”

“Well, you have been pretty ‘hands on’ with your design team,” Marinette smirked, arching an eyebrow coquettishly. “Or at least one of the interns.”

Adrien turned beet red before glancing around the mostly-deserted restaurant. “Really, Mademoiselle, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were coming on to me! I’ll have you know I’m in a very happy relationship.”

Marinette leaned forward and batted her eyelashes at him. “Oh, really, M. CEO?” she whispered, forcing Adrien to lean forward. “Well perhaps the lady in question would like to _discuss_ this relationship status in a more private setting, hmm? Perhaps over dessert from the bakery?”

“If the lady insists,” Adrien teased, standing up and moving around the table to pull Marinette’s chair out for her to stand. He held her coat for her to slip into it. As she leaned back, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “We have to go on these dates more often, Milady.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jean Levebvre was not a man of expensive tastes. He enjoyed his fine wine and considered himself to be something of a connoisseur. After a particularly successful operation he would flaunt an expensive wristwatch. When he set up a safe house, he preferred to line his shelves with first-editions of the classics and his walls with the Great Masters. And of course he refused to drive a personal car worth less than €100k. _But who_ would _? Especially when they’re as good at their job as I am?_

It had been years since Jean had last operated in Paris; his last Paris operation had happened a couple days after the papers were filled with stories about “Hawk Moth,” the alleged super-villain who had transformed a teenager into a villain called “Stoneheart” which had been defeated by Paris’ newest superheroes, the self-styling Ladybug and Cat Noir. The heist in question had gone sideways when Hawk Moth Akumatized a bank guard, transforming him into the Guardsman. Jean’s crew had hardly cracked into the safe when the Guardsman chased them from the bank, brandishing his nightstick as a medieval flail. Jean had drawn his pistol and shot the Guardsman, but the Guardsman’s badge had grown to a full-size triangular shield and stopped the bullet. Then the Guardsman had torn the gun from Jean’s hands and beaten him and his crew with his belt, which had transformed into a whip.

“I bring you a message from Hawk Moth,” the Guardsman had informed him between blows. “Paris is mine. I don’t need any pathetic _bank robbers_ messing with my plans. Bank robbers mean cops. Bank robbers mean capes. You bring the cops and the capes out at a time that’s not of my choosing, and I bring the hurt to _you_. Now I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse. You want to rob banks in Paris? You want to operate in my city? You come to me, and _maybe_ I give you the time of day. Got it?”

Jean was just a simple thief and robber. He didn’t want trouble with no super-villains. So Jean and his crew had moved out of Paris that same day. He had spent a couple years bouncing around Europe. He’d robbed banks in Portugal. He’d stolen artwork from a museum in Milan. On a dare he’d organized a heist in the Vatican itself and stolen the Papal Crown. But he had given France – and its looming superhero/super-villain show-off – a wide berth – though like the rest of Europe he had enjoyed following its progress in the papers’ “Mask Watch” section.

It was after stealing a prototype roadster from an auto manufacturer in Germany that summer that life had taken an unexpected turn. Jean had been sitting in an open-air café in Vienna, scanning the International Times while sipping his espresso and waiting for the fence to collect the merchandise, when a headline had caught his eye: “Hawk Moth Arrested: Fashion Mogul Learns Stripes Aren’t Flattering.”

“Hey, Michel, get a load of this,” he’d called to his number two, passing the paper to him.

Michel had skimmed the article quickly before handing it back. “So the capes took down the Butterfly-Man. So what? What’s that got to do with us, Boss?”

“So no more Butterfly-Man means no more super-villain controlling the Paris underworld,” Jean had said, grinning. “No more super-villain means no more embargo on our kind of crime in Paris. No embargo on Paris means all kinds of scores for an enterprising and experienced crew such as ourselves. And the Paris police force has gotten soft. They’re so used to sitting back and letting the capes take care of these big threats like super-villains that they probably forgot what to do with a guy with a gun instead of some mind-controlled whacko with a wand that controls the weather. Tell the boys to pack up. We’re going home.”

Jean had spent the next month watching and waiting in the shadows while the Paris underworld searched for its footing after the Agreste arrest, what the papers were still calling the “Fashion Disaster.” He’d learned from his money launderer that his crew was not the only one Hawk Moth had held down during his reign; others that had been in hiding for years kept crawling out of the woodwork and trying their luck. As he’d watched these crews operate and listened to his police scanner, Jean had also realized that the superheroes, the so-called “Heroes of Paris” weren’t planning on going anywhere anytime soon. The newspapers were filled with stories about Queen Bee rescuing a woman from her would-be rapist, or King Monkey and Viperion stopping an attempted kidnapping. _Seriously, what self-respecting “hero” calls himself “Viperion”?_

A few of Jean’s men had tried robbing jewelry exchanges with some success during the fall, but it had all come crashing down on them one morning when Ladybug and Cat Noir themselves had showed up to stop them. Not only had the crew failed, but Cat Noir had knocked them out cold in the process. It had taken some convincing to keep the rest of his crew from packing up and moving to Canada after that!

That was when Jean had realized he needed to be smart about this. The Heroes had all the power on their side, but none of the surprise. Just by reading the Ladyblog, Jean had pieced together exactly how many heroes there were (13) and their relative skill sets and abilities (ranging from power over the elements themselves to… nothing??? _Seriously, why_ did _they let the Owl into their club?_ ). He’d also learned that they stuck rigidly to a pair model; they rarely operated alone. That didn’t help him out at all, though. Unfortunately, his crew couldn’t handle a single of these powered heroes, let alone two. Jean considered alternatives.

A couple of the heroes’ identities were common knowledge, but he could hardly justify acting on that information. Queen Bee, the budding socialite, was the Mayor’s daughter and surrounded by security at all hours. And besides, he couldn’t quite stomach harming a teenager. And as for the Owl… what would even be the point?

Jean had instead focused on the heists, using the heroes’ coordination against them. He’d sent part of his crew to rob a bank on one side of Paris, instructing them to make their target as obvious as possible without painting a giant sign on the truck that read, “DECOY.” Then, when a couple heroes showed up to foil that bank robbery, a trio of his men had held up a diamond exchange in a different arrondissement.

Seeing the strategy’s success, Jean had perfected his timing, enabling his backup crews to hit several soft targets while the heroes were distracted by a single, showy bank robbery. Unfortunately, this had only worked twice; the third time he’d tried the same strategy, the heroes had ambushed all his backup crews before they could do more than pull out a gun.

After that setback, Jean had moved his headquarters to avoid any locations the arrested crewmembers had known. Now he was operating out of an internet café in a high-end arrondissement. _At least the coffee is good here_ , Jean grumbled. _Too bad I can’t say the same about these pastries_. He spat out his bite of croissant and sat up in surprise as he checked his email and found a message from an unknown sender.

“M. Bling,” it began. _“Monsieur Bling”?_ Jean wondered. _Such theatricality. That’s certainly not the codename I would pick for myself._ “I have followed your exploits with interest. I have an idea for your next target: an upcoming charity fashion show that will feature the Heroes of Paris. The guest list for this event looks like a who’s who of Paris’s most influential and wealthy citizens, so a well-organized crew such as yours shouldn’t have any trouble robbing the guests, taking the donations, and getting away. The best part: the heroes will already be there, so you will take them by surprise and embarrass them in the process. Yours, M. L”

Jean read the message several times in confusion. He had never heard of this “Monsieur L” before, none of his contacts in the Paris underworld had mentioned such a person, and the message out of the blue raised red flags. Nevertheless, as he studied more closely, his mind began churning away with ideas. Perhaps this “Monsieur L” was just “Monsieur Lunatic,” someone who read the news and had too much time on his hands. There was no reason to think he was more than that. But all the same, this heist idea was worth considering.

Jean had read about the charity fashion gala that the former Hawk Moth’s fashion house was planning to host in little over a week. He personally doubted that Agreste’s teen-model son had the acumen to salvage the family business; everything he’d seen in the papers told the same story: the child was little more than a pretty face, in over his head trying to run a business. But after the boy’s father had chased Jean from Paris years earlier, it seemed fitting, somehow, to make his return to the big stage at the expense of Hawk Moth’s own company and child. That this charity gala was “Heroes of Paris”-themed was just the icing on the cake after the meddling heroes had stymied his plans at every opportunity in the months since his return to Paris.

“But with the heroes there, we will have to use misdirection and keep them guessing,” Jean muttered to himself.

“What was that?” Michel asked.

“Our next target,” Jean answered without looking up. “Tell the boys to meet us at the usual spot. We are stealing from the Heroes of Paris themselves.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-canon Miraculous holders:  
> Impératrice Pourpre - Sabrina, Butterfly Miraculous  
> Taureau Dechaine - Ivan, Ox Miraculous  
> Multiplice - Mylène, Mouse Miraculous

“Marinette! How is Jeannette’s headband coming along?”

“Almost finished, Mme Legrand,” Marinette called back around a mouthful of pins. She stuck one more bobby pin in the girl’s hair to hold the headband in place and leaned back to examine the effect. The red-and-gold horns jutted out on either side of her head in a highly-realistic fashion. “That looks great, Jeannette!” Marinette told the girl. “Now let’s see your best smile.” The girl smiled and spread her arms out wide, showing off the lightning flares across her chest. She twirled around, causing the storm waves on her cape to billow and crash realistically. “Wonderful! When you do that, you look just like Ryoku using her Storm Dragon powers!”

“Thank you!” Jeannette told her, giving Marinette a quick hug before running back to where the other young models were waiting.

Marinette had just turned to touch up the next model, the boy in the Taureau Dechaine-themed outfit, when she heard a familiar voice from the other side of the dressing room.

“Where’s my favorite little designer, eh?”

Marinette smiled as she pushed herself up off her knees. She turned around to see a figure with bright blue highlighted hair, eyeliner, and a ripped leather jacket wading through the confusion in her general direction. Marinette turned back to Marcel, the Taureau Dechaine model, and put in a couple of pins to take in his sleeves so the coat would hang correctly over his cast, before asking him to pull it off and sit down on the stool. She had just enough time to add a handful of stitches, check the fit on Marcel’s shoulders, and spit her pins out on the desk next to her before Jagged Stone whirled her around and pulled her into a bear hug.

“Ah, Marinette!” Jagged shouted with a grin. “I should have known I’d find you surrounded by children and up to your eyeballs in fabric!”

“Jagged,” she barely managed to squeak out. “Thank you so much for coming! And I–I know Adrien appreciates it, too.”

“Ah, yes, the crush is in charge of this show,” Jagged teased. He grinned sheepishly and glanced away from her. “Heh, sorry about that one, love. But how is the lad in question?”

“Not a crush anymore,” Marinette smiled back. “We started dating a few months ago. Though I’d prefer if you don’t tell anyone from Agreste.”

“Ah, marvelous!” He loosed his hold on her shoulder fractionally, allowing her to take a full breath. “You know, I had a brilliant idea for my next album cover,” he told her, leaning in conspiratorially and fingering a necklace she hadn’t previously noticed him wearing.

“Ooh, pretty,” Marinette cooed, picking it up in her hand to examine it more closely. Jagged leaned in closer so she could get a better look. It was a gold ankh, about 6 cm in height, with a small sapphire set in the head. The sapphire itself shone a brilliant blue, but with two small flaws, one black and one gold, which caught and reflected the light within the gem. It felt warm to Marinette’s touch. “Where did you get this?”

“Would you believe I picked it up at a bazaar on my last tour stop in Egypt?” He slipped it back inside his jacket. “Yeh, the bloke said he’d got it from a traveler who’d found it out in the desert somewhere. Gave me a good deal on it, too. I was thinking something like the pendant, but with my face set inside the gem. What d’you think?”

Marinette nodded and put a finger on her chin contemplatively. “I can work with that,” she told him. “I’ll rough out a couple sketches after the show and send them to you to take a look.”

“Marvelous, love,” Jagged said, releasing her and walking away toward the stage area. “You truly are a miracle!” he called over his shoulder

Marinette giggled as she turned away from him, only to come face-to-face with Marcel, who was staring at Marinette with his mouth agape. “You’re friends with Jagged Stone?” he asked in awe, as Marinette crouched down to adjust his teal bowler hat, fixing it into place with a pair of hatpins to keep the artificial horns properly aligned. She pushed the boy’s mouth shut and held him out at arm’s length, turning his head to examine every angle of the hat’s fit.

“Yeah, I’ve designed a few of his album covers and outfits,” Marinette told him. “He’s actually a pretty nice guy for such a famous rock star. Why? Are you a fan? Do you want me to get you his autograph?” When the boy nodded, wide-eyed, she smiled and said, “Let me see what I can do. You’re ready now, so why don’t you go over where the others are waiting.”

Marinette stood up and stretched her neck, looking around at the preparations as she did so. According to the clock on the wall, Jagged Stone’s preshow mini-concert was due to begin in just a couple minutes, with the fashion show to start 15 minutes later. She could see Chloe on the other side of the room, untransformed but taking selfies with a girl wearing a Queen Bee-inspired dress. Impératrice Pourpre stood with a pair of girls dressed in a Ladybug outfit and a Multiplice-inspired skirt, who were running their hands along the fabric of her miraculous dress in fascination. On seeing Marinette looking her way, Chloe leaned over and whispered something in the girl’s ear. They giggled together before Chloe squeezed her shoulder, kissed her forehead, stood up, and walked over to Marinette. Impératrice Pourpre high-fived the girls standing beside her and hurried to follow.

“I had no idea how much work went into one of these shows behind the scenes,” Chloe commented, giving Marinette a quick hug and absentmindedly playing with some loose strands of hair that had pulled out of Marinette’s ponytail. “Normally I just sit in the front row with Daddy and Mommy and experience the show. To think that all of this –” she swept her hand around the madhouse surrounding them “– somehow turns into that. And this – designing fashion and organizing these shows – is what you want to do with the rest of your life? Better you than me, sweetie.”

Impératrice Pourpre smiled and shook her head. “You wouldn’t know how to organize your hair without help, Chloe,” she teased.

Chloe huffed. “I’ll have you know I did my hair and makeup just fine this morning, no thanks to you!”

Impératrice Pourpre grabbed a makeup cloth out of the touch-up kit Marinette had left open on the desk and dabbed a spot on Chloe’s forehead. “Hmm, I can tell.”

On seeing Chloe’s jaw drop open in shock, Marinette couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing, nearly doubling over with her hands on her knees. When she could finally catch her breath, she looked up to see Chloe still with a tinge of pink in her cheeks, and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths before the sight caused her to start laughing again. Once she had finally regained control, she wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of a hand, turned to Impératrice Pourpre, and commented, “You know, I think having the miraculous has done you a world of good!”

“I’m starting to regret that,” Chloe grumbled, though the smile she couldn’t quite manage to hide robbed the comment of any force.

Impératrice Pourpre and Marinette looked at each other and giggled before pulling Chloe into a hug. Impératrice Pourpre whispered into Marinette’s ear, “So is Ladybug going to stop by later?”

Marinette whispered back, “Have you seen your Michelle’s outfit? It will be a miracle if I have everything right before she goes out. So probably no Ladybug. Cat Noir isn’t too busy at the moment, though.” She turned to Chloe. “I think you made Colette’s day just now,” she observed, nodding over at the group of models.

“She’s such a sweetheart,” Chloe said with a smile.

“I’m impressed to see you interacting with the kids so well.”

“Yeah, well,” Chloe started, blushing a little, “I figure, if you can be Ladybug in or out of the suit, why can’t I be a little more like Queen Bee when I’m just Chloe? Especially since everyone already knows who I am.”

“Give it up for Jagged Stone!” they heard Alya call out over the P.A. system as the closing chords of Jagged’s routine faded away. “What an amazing treat! Not only his hit single ‘Ladybug,’ but two new songs dedicated to the Heroes of Paris: ‘The Lady and the Cat,’ and ‘The Carapace and the Guitar Villain.’”

“You’d better transform and get out there,” Marinette muttered. “After all, the two of you are the opening act. And the judges!”

“You got it, sweetie,” Chloe told her, releasing Marinette and linking arms with Impératrice Pourpre. As the two heroes walked out the door and into the spotlight on the runway, Chloe called, “Pollen, Buzz on!” and was engulfed in yellow light to thunderous applause. Marinette missed the remainder of their routine as the curtain swung back behind them, hiding the show from view.

Marinette smiled as she called Michelle over. The poor girl had had an epileptic seizure earlier and torn her fairy wings when she fell. For as much as Marinette had consoled her and assured her that the wings were salvageable, it had taken close to thirty minutes for her aunt to calm her down while Marinette saw to the other models. Marinette knelt next to the girl and hugged her for a minute, wiping off her eyes with the back of a sleeve. “There we go,” Marinette said, smiling. “Now let’s see about those wings, my Fairy-Princess!”

Michelle giggled as Marinette pulled out her shears and went to work on the wings, cutting bits off the edges, burning streaks into them with a curling iron, and softening and shaping the hard plastic with a hair dryer. When she was done, she stuck another pin into the back of the skirt so the butterfly pattern across the pleated front would pop more clearly.

“And we’ll trim off this thread like… so,” Marinette told her, snipping off the offending thread, “and that does it! Now, can you hold your arms up? Perfect! Impératrice Pourpre will be thrilled to see your dress!”

Michelle smiled and curtseyed before running over to the rest of the group. Marinette grinned and shook her head ruefully, slipping between the children toward the door to the runway. She took an empty place next to Mme Legrand behind the curtain where she could watch the children returning from their turns on the runway. She stifled a laugh at the look on little Jacques’ face as he extended the wings on his Owl hoodie and flapped his arms while strutting off the runway.

“He really does have the Owl’s movements down pat, doesn’t he?” Marinette commented.

“He certainly does. So how does it feel?” Mme Legrand asked. Marinette looked up at the older woman, surprised to see her smile. “Your first professional fashion show looks to be going off without a hitch. How does that feel?”

“This is what it looks like when the show goes off without a hitch?” Marinette asked in wonderment. “I thought I would have to scrap half the Ladybug outfit! And it was only by a miracle that Louis wasn’t sick all down the front of his King Monkey suit!”

“Ah.” Mme Legrand waved a hand dismissively. “These things are nothing. If they do not happen before the show, the show is a disaster. When they do happen before the show, the show is perfect.”

Marinette sighed and nodded as she continued to watch the show. “It’s amazing, especially seeing the looks on the kids’ faces when they see the finished product,” she answered. “They’re having so much fun out there that, even if the fundraiser was a colossal flop, they would still think it was an amazing experience.”

“Yes, the joys of youth,” Mme Legrand said, smiling fondly. “This is about the perfect age for models: they truly enjoy the show without turning into the little divas that older models can become.”

“Older models like Adrien?” Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“There are exceptions to every rule, dear. You were lucky enough to find one of them.”

Marinette felt her cheeks reddening and turned away to watch the rest of the show. Across from her, at the “Judges’ Table,” she could see Queen Bee and Impératrice Pourpre watching enraptured as their own doppelgangers strode out on the runway and struck matching poses. Then the girl in the Queen Bee dress – Colette – stepped forward and crouched down, while Michelle stepped behind her and spread her arms, causing her wings to flare out. The crowd started applauding as the two heroes remembered what they were supposed to be doing and followed suit. Beside them, the Owl looked to be eating up the attention. Marinette felt a twinge of guilt watching M. Damocles run around in the same old Owl pajamas he’d been wearing for years; she still couldn’t quite bring herself to offer to make him a new suit, even now that he was an “official” Hero of Paris. Opposite the Owl, Jagged Stone was lounging in his chair, arms folded behind his head, watching the proceedings with some interest. He still had his guitar, leaning against the table next to him. As Marinette watched, he reached over and plucked a string contemplatively.

The performance was nearing its end; only the children in the Ladybug- and Cat Noir-themed outfits had yet to make their appearance. Then all the models would return for a group shot, the “judges” would hand out some prizes, and they would hold the charity auction. All in all, the show had gone surprisingly well so far.

Marinette’s phone vibrated in her purse. Ignoring the arched eyebrow Mme Legrand shot her way, Marinette slipped it out just far enough to see the sender: “HOPAS” (“Heroes of Paris Alert System”). Pulling the phone out all the way, she read the message, “Taureau Dechaine and Multiplice responding to runaway truck on Rue de Champs.”

 _Okay,_ Marinette thought, taking a deep breath, _one emergency happening. Not a big deal; we have friends to handle these things._ She was about to put the phone back in her purse when it went off again. Giving Mme Legrand an apologetic look, she read the new message, “Ryoku and Viperion responding to bank robbery, 14th Arr.” No sooner had she locked the screen than the phone went off again.

_What is going on here?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To read about Ryoku and Viperion's adventure mentioned at the end of this chapter, check out ["First Impressions and Second Chances"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006025)


	4. Chapter 4

Impératrice Pourpre leaned forward in her seat, watching as all the child models came back out on the runway and posed together. She had been especially impressed with the “Fairy-Princimpératrice” outfit and the girl – Michelle – who had worn it. Of course she remembered the incident when Michelle had become her first and biggest fan. Sabrina had only had the miraculous for a week when she felt the twinge of a strong emotion the first time. She’d been in Chloe’s penthouse at the time, watching a movie together. When she had gasped and reached for the brooch with a look of alarm, Chloe had simply arched an eyebrow as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”

“Nooroo, what’s going on?” she’d asked the little purple kwami, who’d floated over from where he’d been sitting with Pollen on the edge of the sofa.

“The twinge you felt is a warning. It means someone nearby is feeling an extreme emotion,” he’d explained. “The more extreme the emotion, the longer the range at which you can sense it. Untransformed, you can only feel really powerful emotions unless the person is right next to you. Now concentrate, and you will be able to see what’s happening around the person. Close your eyes and focus on that twinge. Trace it back to its source.”

She’d obeyed his instructions and instantly been transported to the interior of an overturned taxi. She’d seen a little girl wearing a plastic tiara and holding a fairy wand, crying as she looked at the seat next to her. Following the girl’s gaze, she’d seen the girl’s mother held suspended upside down, her hair brushing what had been the roof, trapped by her seatbelt. The mother wasn’t moving; her forehead was oozing blood. The lighting was poor, but through the cracked window she could make out a pool of gasoline on the road surface.

“They crashed! They’re trapped!”

“You remember what to do, Mistress?” Nooroo asked.

“Nooroo, Bright wings rise!” A moment later, she’d turned into La Impératrice Pourpre for only the third time. As if on command, a butterfly fluttered over to her from Chloe’s nightstand. Impératrice Pourpre snatched it out of midair, imbued it with power, and released it. Chloe had transformed and shadowed the Akuma as Queen Bee, though she had contented herself to crouch on a roof across the street and watch as the Akumatized girl pulled her mother and the driver from the taxi and covered the gasoline with foam from her fairy wand before it could catch fire. The moment the ambulance pulled up, the “Fairy-Princess” picked her mother up and flew over to the paramedics to lay her on the stretcher. Then she sat down on the ambulance bumper near the stretcher before Impératrice Pourpre released her from the Akuma so she transformed back into a little girl. Impératrice Pourpre had kept her connection to the Akuma open just long enough to watch the girl hug her still-dazed mother and say, “Mommy, did you see me? I was a Fairy-Princess!” before releasing the Akuma from her power and whispering, “Bright wings fall.”

And this little girl had decided that _she_ – Impératrice Pourpre – was the coolest superhero in Paris! It was more than Sabrina had ever hoped, especially when Chloe offered her the miraculous that Hawk Moth had used for so long to terrorize the city. She had nearly refused until the miraculous had activated in her hand and Nooroo had appeared out of the brooch and convinced her to give him a chance, that he sensed a level of empathy in her that he had never felt from his previous master.

She smiled as she watched the children link arms and bow. Next to her, Queen Bee stood up to clap, which she took as her cue to stand up and applaud as well. On her other side, the Owl stumbled over his feet to rise also. On the opposite end of the table, Jagged Stone allowed himself to sit up straighter and held out his arms to the kids. As the four judges handed out “prizes” to the “Most Enthusiastic Model,” “Most Accurate Impression,” “Best Superhero Duo,” and the like, Impératrice Pourpre grinned to herself. _This is the best part of being a hero: seeing how happy we make people!_

Her good mood ended abruptly right after they had “awarded” the last prize, when a fire alarm went off in the Atrium just outside the show hall. Without even looking at her companions, Impératrice Pourpre jumped up and ran down the center aisle and out into the Atrium, chasing Queen Bee. The footsteps behind her indicated that the Owl was hot on their heels. Calling to an usher to hold the crowds back, the three heroes skidded to a halt just outside the doors where Impératrice Pourpre noticed the display table of Jagged Stone merchandise on fire. Before she could even think of using an Akuma to give the Owl water powers to put out the fire, a spray of foam from behind her doused and smothered the fire. She turned around to find the Owl holding a fire extinguisher he had grabbed from a hook next to the door they had just exited.

“Thanks for that, sir,” she said ruefully. “I never even thought about the fire extinguisher.”

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” he answered. “Just another day on the job for The Owl!”

Impératrice Pourpre tried to ignore the eye roll Queen Bee had given the Owl at the statement and its accompanying pose. She looked around at everything else in the Atrium in confusion. No one else was around. “Where are the ushers?” she asked. “What happened to the cashiers at the booths? The Atrium shouldn’t be deserted like this, should it?”

Queen Bee jogged to the opposite end of the Atrium and around the corner before returning, a confused expression on her face. “There’s no one down that way, either.”

The Owl meanwhile was kneeling next to the ruined display. “I don’t see anything that could have started the fire,” he finally said, allowing the singed tablecloth to fall back to the floor.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Impératrice Pourpre muttered, glancing back at the door to the show hall. Then she started and ran over to it: the door had been shut without their realizing it. She tried to push it open but to no avail. Queen Bee and the Owl joined her, but even together they couldn’t open the door.

Then Impératrice Pourpre fell to her knees as a wave of fear and terror rolled over her from the show room. She buried her forehead in her hands and moaned. She was only dimly aware of Queen Bee rubbing her back and whispering, “Remember your breathing exercises.” _Breathe in slowly… hold it… release the breath slowly. Breathe in slowly… hold it… and release._ Finally, once she had centered herself, she reached out to find the sharpest emotional center in the room and allowed herself to see through that person’s eyes. With a start she realized that she recognized little Michelle. The girl was standing with the other models to one side of the stage, Marinette’s hand resting on her shoulder, while a man in a white suit stood in the center of the stage and spoke.

“If you good people cooperate, I assure you nothing untoward will happen,” he was saying. “My men have taken great pains to keep your so-called ‘Heroes’ busy right now doing important hero things. So if you will be so kind as to empty your jewels and pocketbooks into the sacks my lovely assistants are passing around, they will not have to use their party favors, and you will be able to get back to helping these fine young children. And after all, you are raising funds to help the poor victims of Gabriel Agreste’s Akumas, and here before you, you see a group of men who have been victimized most egregiously by the dearly departed Moth-Man!”

Looking around carefully and shifting her perspective to different people around the room, Impératrice Pourpre could see a pair of thieves shoving Alya’s video equipment into a sack while she and Nino stood by, fists clenched helplessly by their sides. Near the stage, she could make out Marinette and Adrien standing near the models under the watchful eyes of more gunmen. Moving her perspective closer to their own location, Impératrice Pourpre saw that the reason they couldn’t open the door was a mini dumpster knocked sideways in front of it.

“It’s a robbery,” she told the others. “They’ve blocked the door. And Ladybug and Cat Noir can’t do anything, so it’s up to us.”

“Pity Taureau Dechaine isn’t here,” Queen Bee observed, testing the door again with her shoulder. “He’d get us in no problem.”

“So what’s the plan?” the Owl asked, flexing his muscles. “A daring climb to spring from the windows? Call in the Owlmobile to break through the wall?”

Impératrice Pourpre and Queen Bee glanced at each other and stifled a giggle. “Considering that they have automatic weapons and a few hundred hostages, let’s not do either of those! Give me a second.” Impératrice Pourpre concentrated on the emotions in the hall once more. The majority of those inside felt fear, terror, anger. Michelle felt helplessness mingled with a desire to help, but Impératrice Pourpre was loathe to put the girl in danger again. She could feel righteous fury coming from Adrien, a maternal protectiveness from Marinette, but she knew neither of them would appreciate her calling attention to them by Akumatizing them into variations of their superhero alter egos. She expanded her search a little further – _ah_. Cold determination. As if on cue, a butterfly landed in the palm of her hand, and she imbued it with power before releasing it to slip under the door.

The Akuma found its target, and Impératrice Pourpre smiled in relief as the connection formed. “Hi, Jagged; it’s Impératrice Pourpre. We need some help here. Would you become the Guitar Hero and help us stop this robbery?”

“Let’s rock out, little miss!” he replied, grinning as his fingers tightened reflexively on his now-lavender guitar. Purple smoke covered him momentarily and dissipated to reveal bright blue hair and a magenta jacket with hard bronze epaulets protruding from the shoulders.

As the smoke disappeared, the robbers noticed the change in Jagged Stone’s appearance immediately, and a pair of them panicked, turning their guns on the crowd of bystanders. Guitar Hero glanced over and strummed a chord, releasing a blue wave of energy that formed an impenetrable shield between the bystanders and the robbers. Their panicked shots struck the barrier, the bullets falling in a pile harmlessly on the floor. While maintaining the first chord, Guitar Hero struck a harmonic and turned the guitar against the robbers, who fell to the floor immobilized.

Guitar Hero turned to bring his guitar to bear on the main door, just before Impératrice Pourpre realized what he was doing. “Wait! Not too much–” she shouted, a moment before he windmilled his arm and struck a chord. A wave of concussive force slammed into the mini dumpster, sending it caroming off the wall. Impératrice Pourpre threw the door open and raced inside the moment she saw it was clear, dragging Queen Bee behind her. “There!” she shouted, turning Queen Bee to face where the dumpster was about to slam into a small family.

Without a moment to spare, Queen Bee threw her top, looped it around the dumpster, and threw herself around a column, tugging on the string and dragging the dumpster to a stop. When the dumpster had settled to the floor, she flicked her wrist to summon the top back to herself and tossed it up to catch on the catwalk, using it to swing over the heads of the panicked crowd. Queen Bee landed next to Guitar Hero and slapped him across the face. “You could have killed those people!” she screamed. “Why don’t you try doing _less_ damage than the bad guys!”

Guitar Hero reached up to run a hand through his hair. “Heh, sorry about that, love,” he said sheepishly. “Guess I don’t know my own strength!”

Queen Bee scoffed as Impératrice Pourpre arrived beside them. Impératrice Pourpre looked around at the confusion in the room, taking in the disarray that the show had become. She didn’t see any of the robbers, other than the ones that Guitar Hero had already immobilized. “Where did they go?” she asked.

Guitar Hero pointed out a side door. “They all ran out that way,” he told them.

Queen Bee took off in the direction he pointed. “Come on,” she called. “You can redeem yourself by helping me catch them.”

Impératrice Pourpre looked back to where the Owl was trying to calm down the stampede toward the door. “Go with Queen Bee,” she told Guitar Hero. “I’ll stay here and help the Owl with the crowd. And you’d better watch her back!”

As Guitar Hero raced after Queen Bee, Impératrice Pourpre jumped on top of the judges’ table and at the top of her lungs shouted, “Freeze!” The disorder in the hall slowly came to a halt as the bystanders turned to look up at her. As she felt the eyes on her, Impératrice Pourpre started to wither, but steeled herself to push forward. “The danger here has passed!” she shouted. “If everyone will form an orderly line to exit the building, the police are waiting outside. Give them a description of anything the robbers took, and wait by the police line. If you or someone near you is hurt, raise your hand so the Owl can come and help them to the paramedics.” She slipped momentarily inside of Guitar Hero’s head and watched as his immobilizing blast froze four more of the robbers. “Queen Bee and Guitar Hero are going to stop the robbers and get back everything they stole momentarily, so please be patient.”

Through her connection, Impératrice Pourpre heard Queen Bee shout, “Keep them busy!” before swinging around behind the robbers on her top. Guitar Hero threw up a shield in front of himself to block a volley of fire before directing his guitar at the robbers and finger-styling, sending tiny tendrils of concussive force at them. As the robbers jumped away from each blast, they had to be careful to avoid the next one. He shifted from concussive blasts to immobilization, and suddenly only one robber was left standing upright. Queen Bee threw her top at him from behind, immobilizing him with Venom. Then the police moved in to round up the robbers.

A couple minutes later, Queen Bee and Guitar Hero reentered the hall. Queen Bee immediately went over to the police and dropped a bag full of purses, wallets, and jewelry in front of Impératrice Pourpre’s father, saying, “Will you be sweet and get these back to their owners, Officer?”

Guitar Hero, meanwhile, went over to Impératrice Pourpre, who released him from the Akuma. Jagged Stone looked around appraisingly, threw an arm around her, and said, “Ta, love. Do that one again sometime, yeah?”

“Certainly,” she replied, slipping his arm off her shoulder. She grinned. “Just as long as you don’t do more damage as a _hero_ than the bad guys you’re trying to stop!”

“Jagged Stone!” shouted a group of reporters, running over to them. “How does it feel to have been Akumatized again? You were Akumatized several times by Hawk Moth; what is your reaction to this latest invasion of your will and privacy?”

“I don’t know about ‘invasion,’ love,” Jagged answered. He shrugged, fingering his ankh pendant. He pulled Impératrice Pourpre in close, grinned, and made a peace sign for the cameras. “The little lady asked for my help, and I was happy to oblige. She didn’t _force_ anything on me. This time it was totally rockin’!”

Impératrice Pourpre slipped away from him and out of the crowd of encroaching reporters, grateful for the distraction he provided. As much as she enjoyed being a hero, she still preferred to stay _out_ of the spotlight.


	5. Chapter 5

Adrien smiled at the girl sitting across from him. It had been a week since the fashion show, and Marinette still didn’t seem quite over the near-disaster of the robbery. Adrien reached across the table, put his hand on top of hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze, quieting her self-recriminations instantly.

“Really, everything turned out just fine, Princess,” he told her, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it. “Even though the auction couldn’t happen the way we wanted it to, I think the bidding went higher online than it would have in person anyways. You even got the dents out of the wall with Miraculous Ladybug, so the venue returned our security deposit! Nothing was missing. Sure, Jagged Stone swears there’s something different about that necklace of his, but I don’t know what he’s talking about; the robbers never even touched it. And everything they stole was recovered and returned to the rightful owners.”

“I know,” Marinette told him. “But I felt so _helpless_. People needed my help, and there was nothing I could do! I’ve been trapped like that before but still found a way to transform. Why couldn’t I do it this time?”

“Yeah, the two of us probably could have wrapped up all those robbers with a bow in no time flat, Bugaboo. Too bad they were watching us too closely for us to transform.” Adrien looked her in the eye and smiled, hoping she would understand. “But you didn’t _need_ to do it yourself this time; we have friends to help us out. And you did exactly what you needed to do under the circumstances. Those kids would have panicked if you hadn’t been there to comfort them. You kept them calm and kept them safe. I’ve said it before: with or without the mask, you are my Everyday Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed.

“So what do you think of Jagged Stone’s newest song?” Adrien asked her, changing the subject. “Nino doesn’t think ‘The Ballad of the Butterfly’ is quite as good as ‘The Carapace and the Guitar Villain,’ but just between us, I think he’s biased.”

Marinette giggled around bites of her dinner. “Well, considering that ‘The Carapace and the Guitar Villain’ is all about the last Hawk Moth fight, with Carapace defeating Guitar Villain and Troublemaker singlehandedly, rescuing Rena Rouge from Frightningale, and making out with the girl in the end, I can see why he would prefer that one! And as if the new song isn’t enough, now Jagged wants me to design him an outfit for his next tour inspired by the Guitar Hero look!” Marinette groaned theatrically. “Honestly, I like the new Butterfly song just fine, but I don’t remember the fight last week having quite so much… _Jagged_ in it…”

Adrien snorted. “Celebrities: always so full of themselves, right?”

“Speaking from experience, M. Famous Model, hmm?” Marinette teased.

“Please, Adrien Agreste, professional model, is no celebrity next to _the_ Ladybug, Milady.” Adrien smiled at her until she looked away, her cheeks tinged pink. Suddenly, he caught her chair with his foot and jerked it sideways so the chair slid around the table and came to rest next to his own. Marinette yelped and grabbed onto her armrests at the motion, but leaned over to rest her cheek on his shoulder once her chair had stopped moving.

“Why, M. Agreste,” she purred, tickling his ear with her breath, “what would your employees think if they saw you like this, out at the fanciest restaurant in Paris and in such a position with a lowly Design Intern?”

“Hmm,” he replied, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I hadn’t considered that. But they would probably think that this is just a little bit of what the Design Intern in question deserves in gratitude for her hard work designing all the outfits for last week’s charity gala. Thanks to that charity show, we have models begging to work for us again and half our foreign contracts are asking to renew. Even with the robbery attempt, every aspect of the fundraiser was a roaring success and our profits jumped 5% after Fashion Week, more than double what we took in after last year’s Fashion Week.”

“M. Agreste,” she hummed, “you remember our agreement when this partnership began, don’t you? The one where you worry about the boring things like profits and percentages, and I worry about the important things like fabrics and styles?”

Adrien surreptitiously slipped a long, thin jewelry box out of his coat pocket. “Very well, Mlle,” he told her, poking her playfully in the ribs. “Let me put it in simple terms.” He opened the box to show her a necklace with an onyx and a ruby forming a yin-yang symbol. He was gratified to hear Marinette gasp. He grinned. “This just represents a fraction of what you earned for Agreste this week – even if it came from my account instead of the business one.”

“Adrien…” she whispered, reaching out to run a finger across the pendant. “You shouldn’t have… you really didn’t have to…”

“And when has that ever stopped me, Milady?” he teased. He removed the necklace from the jewelry box, unclasped it, and moved to put it around Marinette’s neck. She leaned forward and lifted her hair off the back of her neck so he could fasten it. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” she asked, leaning in to kiss him and fingering the necklace.

“You can,” he told her, “but this is _my_ thank you to _you_ for, among other things, making our company look good for the first time in months. And anyways, your smile is more than enough thanks for me. The ‘First Annual Agreste Family Charity Fashion Show’ was a huge success!”

Marinette hummed and leaned into his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her contentedly. Suddenly Marinette sat up straight and turned on him accusingly. “Wait, what do you mean ‘First _Annual_ ’?!?”


	6. Chapter 6

Jean groaned as he backtracked down yet another smelly alley. It was only by sheer dumb luck that he had ducked behind cover a moment before the so-called “heroes” appeared on the street chasing them. He had watched from the shadows as all his careful planning went for nothing. He had occupied the heroes around Paris. He had distracted them at the fashion show. He had thought they were in the clear – only to have a stupid musician with a screw loose transform into a music-themed superhero no more than one meter away from him! The sheer injustice of it! They hadn’t even lost to the _better_ heroes; they’d lost to a rookie (Impératrice Pourpre), a pathetic fan boy (the Owl), a ditzy socialite (Queen Bee), and a rocker-who’s-off-his-rocker!

He hadn’t even managed to keep a single piece of jewelry from the heist. He’d lost his entire crew _and_ the take, and for what?

Jean regretfully threw his white suit coat in a dumpster before he finally slipped out of the alley to enter the 19th arrondissement, home to his favorite café, and allowed himself to breathe. The police had not locked down the area; they probably thought the “heroes” had rounded up the entire crew. He forced himself to walk naturally, without looking around furtively, hunting for signs of pursuit. He allowed his peripheral vision to do his searching while he thought about his future prospects. Clearly Paris was _not_ all it was cracked up to be, even with Hawk Moth locked up. These heroes were just too good, too organized for a simple man with a simple crew to operate under their noses. Perhaps Moscow would be far enough away. He could recruit a new crew, build up some capital, maybe even talk to that black market weapons dealer who claimed to have a magic bullet that could even hurt the “heroes.” He wasn’t holding his breath on that one, though; the guy was probably just blowing smoke, looking to make a quick Euro from gullible suckers. But if that panned out, maybe he could return to Paris in a few years for some well-earned payback.

While considering his options, he almost didn’t notice that he had already arrived outside the café. The bell over the doorway chimed as he entered, and the girl at the counter greeted him by name. “Hello, Henri!” she called. “Did you hear about what happened to that charity show?”

“No,” he replied, keeping his voice as even and disinterested as he could. “What happened?”

“Someone tried to rob them just now,” she answered, shaking her head. “Imagine the nerve: stealing money from sick kids. Disgusting!” she spat.

“Indeed,” he agreed, keeping his wince from showing.

“Oh, before I forget, someone dropped this off for you a few minutes ago.” She reached behind the bar and pulled out a book.

Confused, Jean accepted the book along with the offered espresso, and went to sit at his usual table, where he could keep one eye on the street and make a fast getaway out the back if the police showed up. He opened the book to a page marked by an envelope. The envelope was labeled “M. Bling.” _Again with that name?_ Jean unsealed the envelope, which felt unusually heavy, and pulled out a letter. “M. Bling, Thank you for your assistance today. Everything went exactly as planned. M. L”

 _Whoever this “Monsieur L” is, he’s got some kind of messed up idea of what a_ plan _is!_

Jean was beginning to hate everything to do with those two letters. Nevertheless, his curiosity was piqued. Jean looked closer at the page that the envelope had marked. Turning to the front cover, he saw that the book described various mythical artifacts. The page in question had a colored sketch of something called the “Eye of the Muses,” purported lost to time and memory, which granted the wearer heightened intelligence and creativity. The sketch showed a simple golden pendant with a sapphire set in the head. _What is this nonsense?_

Finally, Jean turned back to the envelope. He saw a small photo inside it, showing a sapphire that looked exactly like the one in the book. But there was something else in the envelope, something heavy. He turned it over and allowed the contents to roll out: a Lynchpin.


End file.
